Distance
by x-SarahJayne-x
Summary: My GA fic, Addek centric, I promise! In a parallel universe where these guys actually stand a chance. I don't own the characters or Grey's Anatomy etc etc
1. Chapter 1

Addison raised her gaze to look at her husband. He appeared to mirror her exactly, be it from years of eating together or some subtle biological programming that seemed to confirm that they were meant to be. He too shifted his food around the plate, not caring that it was stone-cold, not caring that he had hardly eaten any and that his stomach was still painfully empty. He too rested his head on one hand, elbow propped on the table next to his wine glass. He too lifted his gaze to meet his wife's.

She wanted to reach across the table and touch his face. Suddenly, sitting across from him with no barriers and nothing to hide behind, she could see how much he had changed. He looked so much older. Her mind whirled back to the first time they had eaten together in their new house. They had sat around one corner of the dining table, not able to bear sitting at either end and so far from each other. Chinese take-out boxes had been scattered over the pine tabletop – neither was in the mood for cooking, and their saucepans were still packed carefully in cardboard boxes. Derek had hardly been able to keep his hands off her. They had both struggled to eat with one hand, reluctant to break contact. With her hand in his, their legs entwined together, sat in a dark dining room with one candle for lighting, she had glimpsed her future. Their future. She had imagined every night being like that one special night, and she had certainly never envisaged things the way they had turned out.

Addison snapped back to the present, conscious of Derek's attention. They sat at opposite ends of the table but there was a much greater distance between them. No matter how much they tried to talk about work, or a new movie, or whether they should reupholster the sofa, they couldn't find a common ground. The only thing they seemed to have in common anymore was silence. There was a time when they would have argued and blamed each other for their fucked-up marriage, hurling insults, accusations, crockery. Addison missed those arguments because, even though they were painful, it proved that they felt something for each other. Because back then, arguing stemmed from caring. In that dining room, in the silence, they may as well have been strangers. The air was filled with everything that had been said and Addison was tired. Looking into Derek's eyes for a second, she could see that he was tired too.

Lost in thought, she jumped as Derek pushed his chair from the table and clattered his dish into the sink. Addison realised he had been waiting for her to say something, to give him a sign that she still cared for him. Sighing, she rose to stand next to him and she swore she felt her heart break as he walked away from her without a word.

"Derek" she whispered.

"Leave the washing-up, Addison. I'll do it in the morning."

He walked through the hallway and pulled his tired body up the stair case, leaving Addison alone.

Addison reached unconsciously for the almost-full bottle of wine and poured herself another glass, ready to settle down on the sofa for the night. She hadn't slept in their bed for months. In fact, she didn't even think of it as _their_ bed anymore. It was Derek's bed, and her bed was downstairs, wherever she happened to land after the alcohol had taken effect. Once she had fallen asleep uncomfortably curled at the bottom of the stairs. Only after she had gone upstairs in the morning to check that Derek was up did she realise that he had already left and must have stepped over her on his way out, not thinking about how cold she must have been or how much her back was going to ache that day. Back in New York, Derek would sometimes leave Addison working in the study, only to check on her hours later and find her hunched over her desk, asleep on her files. She had always woken up when he lifted her, cradled her in his arms and carried her to bed, and she had loved the few minutes of being curled up under the covers with him before she drifted back off to sleep. Whilst she didn't like to think of herself as vulnerable, Addison saw Derek as the man who would always protect her and look after her.

Cradling her wine glass in her hands and only just aware that she was crying, she wondered where that man had gone. Where was her protector, the man who would always look after her? She knew for a fact that she would wake up downstairs alone. Derek would never carry her up to bed because he didn't want her there. It was a sad fact that sleeping in separate rooms on separate floors was easier than sleeping in the same bed, because being in the same bed just made them both conscious of the uncomfortable distance between their bodies. Both used to falling asleep entwined together, they had begun turning away from each other, completely isolated on their different sides of the bed. Being constantly aware of the change in their relationship had made sharing a bed tortuous.

Addison shuffled out into the kitchen, refilled her glass, and raided the fridge for some cheesecake she had been saving. She knew she had put on weight, and that her hair was lanker and her skin was less glowing, but she didn't care because Derek didn't care. Each night she had found comfort in alcohol and food, trying to fill the void that Derek's indifference had left. She had even started closet-smoking again, disregarding the doctor in her and listening to the desperate, lonely woman who was willing to do anything in order to relax, even if it was a temporary fix.

Throwing away the empty wine bottle in disgust and licking her fingers for any leftover crumbs of cheesecake, she felt almost normal. Because not all married couples slept together, and not all married couples told each other everything. Not all married couples still loved each other, 11 years down the line. Perhaps she and Derek weren't so bad after all.

But then again, not all married couples had affairs. And as her mind turned to thoughts of Meredith and Mark and all of the lies, the food and alcohol turned in her stomach and she ran upstairs, cursing Derek for his insistence that they didn't need a downstairs bathroom and that a cloakroom would be much more practical. She had barely lifted the lid of the toilet before her stomach emptied itself and she was left hugging the bowl like it was her best friend, feeling emptier than before. Trying to catch her breath, she noticed Derek in the corner of her eye. He was leaning against the door frame, rubbing his eyes with his hand. Although Addison hated him seeing her in such a state, she was quietly comforted by the fact that he still cared when she wasn't well. He had always rubbed her back and held her hair when she had drunk one too many tequilas or eaten some bad meat, and as she closed her eyes in an attempt to quell another wave of nausea she felt him move across the bathroom. Expecting to feel his hands on her, she reached to flush the toilet then turned her head to see him rifling through the bathroom cabinet. Toothbrush and deodorant clutched in his hands, Derek took one look at his wife and then walked straight past her. Addison tried to call his name but by the time she had gotten the sound out, the front door had slammed, a car engine had started and she was left with the bitter realisation that her husband couldn't care less.


	2. Chapter 2

Addison paced the hallway on wobbly legs. She toyed absent-mindedly with the wedding ring on her finger before dialling his mobile, yet again. It had been 22 hours since she had last seen her husband. Richard said he had phoned in sick so Addison returned from Seattle Grace expecting to find him at home, but she opened the door to an empty house. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she left her fifth message on his voicemail, just asking him to call her.

Derek had always been passionate, storming out in the middle of arguments from being so worked-up, leaving Addison to go to bed alone and pray for the sound of his car on the driveway. And he came back. He always did. He would come home, calmer, and climb in bed beside his wife, pulling her close to him and burying his face in her hair. Just that touch had let her know that they were on the same side. Invariably their argument recommenced over breakfast but Addison had always been satisfied with those few hours of comfort before morning. Her gratitude that he had come home had clouded her judgement and, under the cover of darkness, she had actually believed the things that he whispered in her ear. That he would never leave her, that he was sorry, that he would always come back to her.

Sighing, Addison busied herself in the kitchen, scrubbing every visible surface with every available cleaning product, desperately trying to wipe thoughts of Derek from her mind.

* * *

He forced himself to climb out from under the duvet and inhaled sharply at the sudden blast of cold air. Fumbling for his beeping phone, he located it in his jacket pocket and squinted at the display screen. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, he saw his wife's name, and once again he waited for it to stop ringing before dialling to pick up her voice mail.

"Derek, it's me. I just want to know where you are. I mean, I just - I just want to know that you're safe. Can you call me, Derek?"

Tossing the phone onto his pile of discarded clothing, Derek walked across the room and stared out of the window into the night. Addison had left him numerous messages, all asking him to call her. He knew she was worried, and he had felt a pang of guilt listening to the pain in her voice. He felt an even stronger pang of guilt as he heard a rustling of bedclothes behind him.

"Was it Addison again, Derek?"


	3. Chapter 3

"So are we going to talk about the thing that we've been avoiding talking about, or are you going to keep scooting around me, leaving the room when I enter, that kind of thing?"

Addison had cornered her husband against the bathroom sink. Toothbrush poised and mouth agape, Derek considered her and raised one eyebrow in her direction.

"There's nothing to talk about, Addy. You drank a little too much wine, and I didn't feel like making a fuss of you."

"I wasn't asking for you to make a fuss…"

"Besides, I thought you could do with some alone time."

Derek turned his back on his wife and continued to brush his teeth in the mirror, praying that the conversation was over. But he knew what Addison was going to say before the sentence had even left her lips.

"Alone time is one thing, Derek. Not seeing you, or hearing from you, for two days and two nights is something altogether different."

She tried to catch his eye in the mirror but when his gaze met hers she wished she hadn't looked. He was clearly exasperated with her, and she didn't really blame him. Addison ran her hands over her hair and sighed, realising that her husband preferred sleeping in an empty hotel room to sleeping with her.

"It just makes me sad, Derek, that it's so easy for you to pick up and walk away. You didn't even call. I was trying to contact you, I wanted to know you were alright, but you couldn't bring yourself to say two words to me. Believe it or not, I still care, Derek."

He turned to face her, leaning against the sink, arms folded. Not knowing quite what to say, he opened his mouth to apologise. He knew it was stupid, because half of him felt that he owed her no apologies, and the other half felt that he could never apologise enough for all the times he had hurt her, but still. It was something to say.

"Just shut up for a minute, Derek. I'm not done. This whole thing makes me angry, and so…so…exasperated, with you, and us, and…God, I mean, I've messed up, I know I've messed up, but we both did. We both went wrong somewhere along the line and I am trying. I am trying to be the perfect wife, I am trying to spend time with you and eat dinner with you, and I am desperately fucking trying to excuse your constant lack of interest. Because you said you wanted to give us another try. But, seriously, if you'd rather spend 48 hours alone in a hotel room somewhere then what does that say about us? What do you honestly think we are gaining?"

Derek began to feel his temper rising. He couldn't quite fathom how his wife still managed to blame him for everything. Sure, she didn't say it in so many words but he could tell from her tone. Once again he felt he was being made out to be the bad guy in the relationship, who never tried, who never talked to his wife, who always went running off without a word.

"Addison…"

"No, Derek. No! You always just leave. You left in New York, after every argument, every misunderstanding, every little fucking thing that didn't go your way. And now, here we are, supposedly trying to make our marriage work, and you're still leaving. We need to communicate. Just a phone-call, a look, _something_ that tells me that you still want this. Running off to be on your own isn't helping. We've spent enough time apart, all things considered, and I…"

"I wasn't on my own," he whispered, almost hissed. His knuckles had turned white as he gripped the edge of the sink harder and harder, trying to stop himself from screaming at his wife.

Addison continued, in full flow.

"…can't help but think that now is the time..." She stopped, mid-sentence, frozen. "What did you say?"

"I said I wasn't on my own. I wasn't cooped up in some hotel on my own."

He swallowed and looked at the floor. His pulse was racing faster as he realised that his stupid temper in the heat of the moment was only going to make matters worse. But he couldn't back out now. If he was going to tell Addison anything, it may as well be the truth.

"I was with Meredith," he murmured, slowly lifting his gaze. In a split second he took in Addison's feet, and her shimmery nail polish which he knew she liked to put on when she was feeling sad. He took in her grey lounge pants and thought of the hundreds of times she had changed into them and cuddled next to him after a long day's work in New York. He took in the fact that she was wearing her favourite t-shirt. His t-shirt. After everything, she was still wearing his t-shirt.

Derek held his breath and looked into Addison's eyes, waiting for her response.


	4. Chapter 4

Addison squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands to avoid Derek's pathetic expression.

"You were with Meredith," she repeated through her fingers.

"Addie, it's not what it sounds like. I just needed to get away…"

"You just needed to get away."

"It wasn't sex, Addison. I didn't go there for that. I didn't cheat. I just needed someone to talk to…for god's sake, Addison, look at me!"

He closed the gap between them in one stride and snatched her hands away from her face. Within a split second she had raised her palm and slapped him, hard. Derek's hand flew to massage his cheek before he grabbed both of his wife's wrists and pinned her against the wall, his face mere millimetres from hers.

"You do not get to jump to conclusions. You do not get to hit me. I'm sick of being the bad guy in this relationship." Addison's eyes had shifted around the room before slamming shut. "Dammit, Addison, look at me!"

With tears rolling down her cheeks she looked him square in the eyes and hissed "I don't want to look at you. It makes me feel _sick. _Physically sick."

"It was just talking! I know I should have called, but it was talking! No kissing, no sex, no…nothing!" His voice had been getting increasingly louder but now he quietened to a whisper. "I just needed someone to talk to, Addie."

He felt her wrists tremble in his grip as sobs shook her body.

"Why couldn't you talk to me?" she whimpered.

Feeling guiltier than he had in months, Derek let go of Addison's wrists and leaned against the wall, letting her slump down to his feet. He hovered one of his hands above her head, wanting to stroke her hair, just wanting to touch her, but he stopped himself. The bitter realisation that confiding in Meredith was probably worse, in Addison's eyes, than any number of fumbling, drunken, adulterous kisses washed over him as he slammed a fist against the wall and left the room.

Wanting simply to shut out his wife's crying and to look at things with a fresh perspective in the morning, Derek sat on the edge of the bed and took off his wristwatch.

"What are you doing?"

Derek turned to see Addison in the doorway. She frantically wiped at her damp cheeks, trying to maintain some sense of control.

"I'm going to bed, Addie. Tomorrow we can sort this out but now," he sighed, "We aren't going to get anywhere tonight."

"Get out."

"What?"

"You're not staying here." Addison walked calmly over to the closet and pulled out some of Derek's clothes. She bundled them under one arm, grabbed a pair of his shoes, and held them out.

"Go. I'll put the rest of your things out on the porch tomorrow. You can pick them up." She was surprised at how steady her voice was and at how little her hands seemed to shake as she held out her husband's clothes, waiting patiently for him to take them.

Realising he was defeated, Derek walked slowly over to his wife and grabbed at the clothes she was shoving against his chest. Addison dashed after him as he headed down the stairs to the front door, determined to watch him leave. As he turned around on the doorstep to say something she slammed the door in his face and waited until she heard his footsteps on the gravel. Looking down, she half-sobbed, half-scoffed as she realised that she was wearing his shirt. In a flurry of material and elbows she took it off, opened the door and hurled it onto the driveway.

"And you can take your damned shirt!" she yelled.

Derek walked over to it and picked it up, hugging it against his chest. He knew how much she loved that shirt.


	5. Chapter 5

A lot of Addison 's friends who had married and then divorced over the years had told her that they couldn't pinpoint when their relationship started to crumble. As if it was just something natural, unconscious, with everyone carrying on oblivious until one day they looked over at their partner and realised that they felt nothing. Until that dawning moment, they hadn't considered for one second that they might be heading for separation, and even with the benefit of hindsight it was impossible for them to tell which wrong choices had led them there.

Sitting in the dimness of the on-call room, six days after slamming the door on her husband, Addison wondered why she had believed her friends.

She had felt the rip of every stitch as the fabric of her marriage came undone. She had seen the barrier build up before her eyes, each brick a screamed accusation, a night spent apart. Countless times, Addison had looked at Derek and wondered just how much longer they could keep going. Before Mark and before Meredith, the cracks were already there. Blaming adultery was a much easier way of pigeon-holing their problems.

Four days earlier, Derek had picked up his things from the porch. She had packed them carefully – although the temptation to rip a couple of his jackets had been strong – and she had found herself making sure that all of his favourite things were in there. Books he loved, CDs he listened to when he was trying to relax, the tie he had never worn but which she knew reminded him of his father. Addison hadn't noticed how sympathetically she had been gathering his things together until after she zipped the case closed.

Derek had called her, said he had more things he wanted to pick up, and that he could just let himself in – he still had a key. Desperately trying to feign indifference, Addison had checked the times of his surgeries to see what time he finished. When she got home that night, she grabbed some food and a blanket, turned off the lights, locked the front door and sat in her car. Seeing the flash of Derek's headlights she cowered in the foot well and peeked over the dashboard, before watching him carry out box after box of his things. With meticulous scrutiny Addison had searched every drawer and every closet, making a mental note of the things Derek had taken. She didn't know why, she just felt that it might be important.

But really, it was just another ripped stitch.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : **Thanks to everybody who has read and reviewed - just a note to say that I am having problems uploading documents, and that this was originally meant to be two chapters but I thought it was better to upload them both while I was still able. Will update when technology allows!

* * *

**Chapter 6** **Part 1**

_Addison__ half-opened one eye, squinting at Derek, then at the clock, then back at Derek again. _

_"Urghh..it's far too early, Derek. Pull the blind back down." _

_"I just wanted to say good morning." _

_"You know, honey, as charming as that is, it would be even more charming if you waited an hour or two." _

_"So a man can't wake his wife up to say good morning any more?" He broke into a grin at the word 'wife' and watched the realisation spread across Addison's face. _

_"Ha! Wife! For a moment there…" _

_"You forgot." Derek raised his eyebrows in mock outrage. _

_"I didn't forget. It was a momentary lapse of…" she stammered, letting her sentence trail off. _

_"…memory? Seriously, this is shocking, shocking behaviour. Our first morning as a married couple and you forget?" _

_"Shhh. Come here, husband." She clasped her hands behind Derek's neck and pulled him closer to her, kissing him forcefully. _

_Derek pulled away. _

_"Now, that's a little commanding," he said, "Do I really want to start my married life being bossed around by my wife?" _

_"Hmm," Addison smiled at Derek and ducked a hand under the duvet to drag her fingernails up his bare thigh. "I think you do." _

_

* * *

_The alarm clock jolted Addison to consciousness and she groaned as she remembered the dream. She had lost count of how many times it had haunted her, but it was normally when Derek was away or after they had argued. She prayed it wasn't going to become a morning ritual. Even though it meant she woke up smiling, she hated that dream. Wondering why her head was pounding so intensely, she cast her eyes around the bedroom, wincing at the growing sunlight. And then she remembered exactly who she had spent the night with. 

Simultaneously shuffling into her slippers and picking up an empty bottle from her bedside, she cursed Jack Daniels. He had been her best friend last night but yet again, come morning, she was left alone in bed with a headache. Typical.

* * *

Addison elbowed her way through flocks of interns, longing to press her forehead against the cool metal of her locker and praying for an easy day. She heard Bailey's voice and listened while the locker room emptied itself before sitting down and massaging her temples. 

" Addison?"

She waved a hand dismissively in the air and shut her eyes, hoping that the voice she knew belonged to Derek would disappear.

"Ok, not right now, maybe. I know I picked up my stuff, and I know we've been doing a pretty good job of avoiding each other - God knows we're well practised at it by now - but don't you think we should, you know, talk?"

"Talk?" Addison scoffed.

"Just for a minute, maybe over lunch…" Derek took a tentative step towards his wife but jumped back as she turned.

"A minute?" she hissed, whacking her hand down on the bench, "A minute? Derek, I gave you eleven years of my life, and clearly that meant nothing. I'm not wasting any more of my time."

Derek walked backwards to the doorway, a look of despair etched on his face.

" Addison, that's not really…"

"_Derek! Just shut the hell up!" _she yelled, wincing as her throbbing head intensified.

She could tell it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Addison's eyes rolled skyward as she was forced to take off her reading glasses and kick her way out from under her blankets. Someone was knocking at her door, and even though she was certain she knew who it was, and that she didn't want to talk to them, she had to answer. The novelty of having her husband knock on the front door to his own house – just the strangeness of it – urged her downstairs. 

Derek started gabbling as soon as she opened the door, no doubt fearing it would be slammed in his face. His eyes flitted over his wife as he talked, searching for something he recognized. The dark circles under her eyes, their red rims, her blank expression; sadly, Derek knew it all too well.

" Addison, look, just a minute, listen for a minute, and…" He dropped a cardboard box at the floor by her feet. "…just, there."

Addison pulled her dressing gown tighter self-consciously, unsure what to say.

"Just take it. And…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Don't you dare say eleven years meant nothing to me."

Derek turned and walked back to his car leaving Addison speechless on the door step. She hated that she still didn't want him to walk away.

* * *

**Chapter 6 Part 2**

Addison sat on the bed, knees hugged to her chest, the empty cardboard box discarded on the floor and its contents spread out at her feet. It was past midnight, she was tired, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she called him. So she'd called Derek, and he'd picked up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; admittedly, he was used to her breaking the silences and crawling back into his arms. Addison didn't move when she heard his key in the lock and didn't even raise her eyes to look at him as he walked into the room and perched on the edge of the bed, trying not to dislodge any of the things she had tipped out on the blanket.

"What is this, Derek?" Addison said, pulling her knees closer to her chest and addressing her toes rather than meeting her husband's cool gaze.

"It's eleven years. You don't recognize any of it?" he replied.

Addison shrugged. "Some of it."

A moment of silence.

"Here," Derek sighed, pushing the array of items to one side of the bed and grabbing hold of Addison's ankles.

"What are you…?" Her question was cut short as Derek pulled her knees from her chest and slid her into the middle of the bed. Addison was used to Derek's odd whims, but not after arguments. Not after she'd asked him to leave his home. And he wasn't smiling. He looked broken.

Derek placed a comforting hand on her knee, just a fleeting touch, as he walked from the foot of the bed and settled himself behind her, so she was sitting in between his legs. He was careful not to touch her – he knew she would jump up, or yell.

"Ok," he breathed, "Choose something."

About to question him again, she resigned herself to join in with whatever game he was playing and picked something up from the bed.

"Ah, the pebble. A fine choice," Derek said softly. "Shut your eyes, Addie."

She complied.

"I can't see whether you're doing as you're told but…I'll have to trust you…"

"Stop messing around, Derek. You're lucky I even called you over. That I even let you sit within inches of me. So don't ruin it by…"

"Shh," Derek soothed, placing his hands on her shoulders and gazing at the back of her head, trying to sense if she had calmed down.

"The pebble. Well, it was a stupidly cold day, I think we'd only been dating for a year, or thereabouts, and you said you wanted to go out."

Derek swallowed.

"You picked this beach, hours away. So I drove, gave you the map – hideously bad idea," he chuckled, "You didn't concentrate, and kept leaning over to kiss my neck in that little coquettish way of yours, so we got lost and didn't get there until it was dark, and even colder. I was annoyed, slightly, that we had driven all day for a wasteland of a beach but you insisted on getting out of the car. And you just looked so stunning, stood by the water, completely frozen in some floaty summer dress with my college sweater on top, and even though I hated that beach I realised that I wouldn't have wanted to spend the day in any other way. I knew that, as long as we were together, it didn't matter where we ended up…"

Derek's voice had quietened to a whisper, so he licked his dry lips and watched Addison reach out to pick up something else. Item in hand, he thought he noticed her shift back towards him slightly. His breath was rippling her hair.

"A flower, or rather the remnants of a flower, from our wedding day. I haven't got a clue which flower it is, or where you picked it up from, but I remember you had fixed it into your hair before our first dance. I noticed it when you leant your head on my shoulder, and…I don't know, it just reminds me of that day, I guess."

Derek scanned his wife's back, trying to gauge her reaction. He hadn't anticipated that she would invite him over, otherwise he would have thought of something better to say. Something a little more impressive than his drabbles about flowers and beaches.

"I couldn't believe that you'd picked me," he murmured.

Addison reached forward to choose something else, and then leaned back against Derek's chest. Her hair was tickling his cheek, and her forehead was nestled against his shoulder, and he watched her eyes flicker shut as his words washed over her.

"A take-out menu, from our fourth anniversary. For once I got home earlier than you, so I ordered all of your favourite food, lit candles, even did the whole rose petals on the bed thing, and you came home in tears. Your patient had died, you'd convinced yourself that it was your fault, and you spent all night curled up on the couch crying. You wouldn't even let me hug you."

Derek stopped, thinking he'd felt Addison's shoulders tremble slightly.

"Addie?" he murmured.

"Keep going" she whispered, her voice shaky.

Derek lifted his arms, which had been lying listless at his sides, and wrapped them around his wife nervously.

"I didn't know what to do, and eventually I fell asleep in the arm chair. I woke up to find you huddled in next to me, still shaking, and it was the first time that I thought that maybe you…needed me."

He swallowed and loosened his hold as Addison twisted to face him, her lips inches from his.

With damp cheeks and trembling hands she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before reaching out to touch Derek's face.

"Aren't they just memories, Derek?" she whispered.

She watched her husband swallow an unmistakable lump in his throat, bit her bottom lip, then walked out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Derek found Addison sat at the kitchen table, cradling a glass and tapping her fingers on it nervously. He moved without hesitation to stand behind her, not certain of what to say but certain of his need to be closer to her, and stroked her hair, letting the messy curls fall through his fingers like they had done a thousand times before. Unconsciously Addison stopped her tapping and leaned back into his touch but was jolted back to reality at the sound of his voice. Despite constantly worrying about the lack of real conversation, real connection, with her husband, for once Addison longed for silence. In the silence, with her tired body and her tired mind, she could almost forget the present; instead, she could slip gratefully into some near-distant memory of when Derek's touch was just about love, rather than being a desperate attempt at salvaging something from their wreck of a relationship.

"I kept all that stuff for a reason, Addie. Even though it doesn't count for much."

"In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really count for anything," Addison said, meeting her husband's gaze as he sat down opposite her. "It shows us what we've lost, but I think we knew that already, hm?" She smiled weakly and drained her glass.

"It shows us what we could have, what we could get back again," Derek replied.

"Can't you see how pathetic this is Derek? It gets to a point where enough is just…enough."

"We aren't at that point yet," he said, reaching emphatically for his wife's hand and squeezing it. She rolled her eyes.

"Thousands of arguments, countless nights sleeping apart, endless silences, broken promises, flying across the country to be away from each other, a big fat helping of infidelity and three drafts of divorce papers. How on earth are we not at that point?"

"Because you've never once said you've stopped loving me," Derek whispered, releasing his grip on Addison's hand as she stood up to stand by the window. He sensed that he was fighting a losing battle. Once Addison had convinced herself of something, it took a lot to sway her.

"It's late, Derek. I'm tired, and I know you probably have early surgeries so...let's just leave it. For tonight."

"You're right," he sighed, defeated. "I should go."

"Or not," Addison said, turning from the window as Derek went to grab his jacket.

"Meaning what?" he questioned.

"Meaning it's your house too. And it's late. And I think we are mature enough to stay under the same roof without one of us killing the other in their sleep." Addison tried to stop herself from smiling. All of the wine that evening had definitely taken hold.

Derek nodded, pleased to see the softer side of his wife returning, despite everything.

"But you will be on the couch," she said.

"Ah, of course," Derek replied, grinning, before walking over to Addison and standing in front of her. His eyes flitted to her lips, and his mind flitted to thoughts of kissing her, but she bowed her head quickly. Brushing a curtain of hair back from her face, he touched his lips to her forehead.

"Derek," she pleaded, "Don't." Addison's pulse was racing faster than she would have liked and having him so close was making her head reel. She shut her eyes.

"Night, Addie."

Upon hearing him walk away she released the breath she had been holding.

"Night," she whispered, to an empty room.


End file.
